Bo and Nora Forever Soulmates MESSAGE BOARD FAN FICTION VIDEOS & PICTURES FAVE SCENES ARTICLES HBS and NORA BIO RSW and BO BIO CHAT ROOM FAVE LINKS BO and NORA HOME PAGE E-MAIL US

Bo's Journey Home - Chapter 4   Monday Evening, June 23rd, 2003 sunset, the pier.   The old man had watched the small boy come slowly down the pier. He had been standing in the shadow of the doorway, smoking his pipe. “Damn smoking laws,” he had thought, making him leave the bar and smoke outside. But he was catching one hell of a sunset. Now the boy had his attention. He could see from a distance, the boy’s gait was slow, almost forlorn; his shoulders slumped as if the weight of the world was being carried there. He looked young and a bit dirty, the knees of his jeans grass stained and torn, the tee shirt clinging to his chest. He continued to gaze at the boy, watching him stand by the edge of the pier, gazing into the water. The boy seemed to be swaying. As he saw Matthew fall forward into the river, he dropped his pipe and starting running to the water’s edge. It took him a couple of minutes to reach the edge where Matthew had just been standing. He looked down into the murky darkness and then dived in, swimming down into the water. He saw the white tee shirt several feet down, and lunging downward, he grabbed hold of it. He swam upward, getting them back to the surface, both he and the boy sputtering water. “Hang on, boy,” the old man choked out, still sputtering water. He pulled Matthew along with him about 20 feet to the pier where the boats were docked. He used one hand to hold the dock planks, while with the other, he hoisted Matthew up onto his hip, then up to his shoulder, and finally heaved his small body onto the dock so that it was leaning half on the dock, half extended over the dock. The fisherman pulled himself up next to Matthew and then turned Matthew onto his side, pounding his back.   Monday Evening, June 23rd, 2003 8:00 PM LPD   Bo arrived at the police station in record time. He had used his flashing blue bubble light, willing people to get out of his way as he sped along the streets of Llanview. He sprinted into the police station, startling some of his officers as he pushed by them. He turned the corner towards his office and saw Nora before she saw him. “NORA!”   Nora turned at the sound of his voice and started towards him. He reached her in two long strides, arms opened to her. She stepped into the familiar embrace, clinging to him, burying her face in the side of his neck, whispering through her tears, “tighter Bo, hold me tighter.” Bo spoke to her softly. “Its okay, Nora, I’m here now, I’m here.” He held her against his chest tightly, rocking her gently, the familiar scent of her hair filling him. He looked towards Antonio and nodded, still holding Nora close to him, not wanting to let her go.   Antonio read from his notepad. “According to Nora, he’s been missing since about 5:00 PM when he didn’t arrive at his sitter’s after day camp. I started an Amber alert about 7:30 PM. I have a description of what he was wearing that Nora gave me and all of the officers on patrol are looking for him. The State Police are also involved. I took the picture of Matthew from your desk and its going across the wire now.” Antonio paused, looking up from his notes. “We’ll find him Commissioner.”   Bo nodded slightly at his detective. “Good job, Antonio. Give us a minute.” Bo turned his attention back to Nora. He spoke softly into her ear. “Let’s go into my office.” She kept her arm wrapped around his waist, her head against his shoulder, letting him guide her into his office. He flicked the light on as he moved them to his small sofa, but she turned back into him, crying softly into his neck. He held her close against his chest, both arms wrapped around her tightly, feeling her warm sobs against his bare neck. Nora finally pulled away from him, wiping her eyes. “I’m sorry.”   Bo could still feel the memory of her against him. “Nora, don’t apologize. Why don’t you sit down and tell me what happened? When’s the last time you saw or spoke with Matthew?”   Monday, June 23rd, 2003 8:00 PM The Waterfront   Matthew lay on his side on the pier, choking up water. The old fisherman was kneeling behind him, pounding his back. “That’s it boy,” he said gruffly. “Get it all up.” The old man shook his own head, trying to clear his ears, and his eyes of the water. His clothes were soaked and weighed him down. He looked back down at Matthew, who had stopped vomiting the water and was trying to sit up. He helped Matthew to a sit up position, holding Matthew under the arms, still behind him. “Can you stand, boy?” Matthew nodded, and the old fisherman helped Matthew to his feet. Up close, the boy still looked pale, his eyes hollow, and there was a cut over his left eye. The fisherman continued speaking. “We should get you to a hospital.”   Matthew looked up at him suddenly. “No!” He pulled away from the man’s hold, backing up slightly. “I’m okay.” Matthew choked up some more water.   The fisherman looked at Matthew with his head bent slightly. “Are you one of them runaways?”   Matthew pulled his wet tee shirt away from his body, wobbling a little. “No,” he stammered, “I just….”   The fisherman reached out and caught Matthew as he fell forward. His grip was tight on Matthew. “Steady there, boy.” The fisherman looked down at Matthew. He was shivering. “We best get you dry. Come on.”   He led Matthew up the small dock and onto the pier. He guided him towards the rows of buildings lining the pier. They walked down a small alley between two of the buildings towards some steps. The fisherman practically carried Matthew up the short flight of steps and into a small apartment above the bar. He helped Matthew onto a small, worn vinyl sofa. Matthew sat on the edge of the sofa, leaning forward, his head in his hands. They were both dripping water everywhere. The fisherman walked from Matthew into a back room and returned a few minutes later with a towel, some clothes and a first aid kit. He handed the clothes and towel towards Matthew. “Here.” He pointed behind Matthew. “There’s a bathroom over there. Get yourself out of those wet clothes. I don’t have anything for someone small as you, but these will do until I get yours dry.” He pointed to Matthew’s left eye. “Then we’ll have a look at that cut.”   Matthew hesitated, now a little scared. The fisherman pushed the stuff towards Matthew, shaking the towel and clothes towards him. “Come on, take it. I ain’t gonna bite you.” Matthew stood slowly, taking the stuff from him. The fisherman pointed again behind him. “Back there. Can you make it on your own?”   Matthew nodded and stood, walking slowly to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He pulled his wet clothes off himself, pulling on the oversized sweat pants and shirt the man had given him. He returned to the living room with his wet stuff. The old man was standing in the kitchen. He had all ready changed out of his wet clothes into sweat pants and a plain shirt. Now he was standing in front of a small closet, waving him over. “Here.” He was standing in front of a stackable washer and dryer stored in a closet in the kitchen. Matthew handed him his wet clothes.   The fisherman waved his hand at Matthew. “Sneakers too. Dryer won’t hurt ‘em.” The fisherman started the dryer and the room was filled with the steady bounce of Matthew’s sneakers off the inside of the dryer. He pointed to a bar stool on the one side of a half counter that separated the small kitchen from the living room. “Sit.” Matthew sat down and the man came around, pulling the other stool with him. He sat in front of Matthew, opening the first aid kit. He pulled out some cotton swabs, some peroxide vials, and a small butterfly strip. He quickly cleaned and bandaged the cut above Matthew’s left eye, replaced the unused supplies back into his first aid kit and pulled the stool back to the other side of the counter. He stood, looking down at Matthew for a minute. Tilting his head, he said, “I think you’ll live.” He then moved to his kitchens cabinets, his back to Matthew, calling to him over his shoulder. “Like chili? Got a coupla’ of cans here.”   Matthew nodded, reaching up to touch the bandaged area over his left eye. He hadn’t realized he had cut his head, but it certainly explained why his head hurt so much. The man opened the two cans and dumped them into a frying pan on the stove. He started the burner, added a bit of water, and put a lid on the pan. He reached into another cabinet and pulled down two bowls. He opened a drawer and pulled out two worn metal spoons and a wooden spoon. He lifted the lid off the pan, stirred with the wooden spoon, replaced the lid, and then turned towards Matthew. He started padding his chest, looking around. Then he looked back at Matthew. “I’ll be right back. Keep your eye on the pan.” He headed towards the door, and then looked back at Matthew. “You do know how to cook, doncha?” Matthew shook his head no. The fisherman eyed him oddly, and then pointed. “Jus’ use that big wooden spoon I left there and stir. I’ll be right back.” He opened the door and left.   Matthew got up and walked slowly over to the stove. He looked back towards the door the man had just left, and then back to the stove. He pulled the stool over, climbed on it, picked up the wooden spoon and lifted the lid, stirring just as he had watched the fisherman do moments before. The man returned a few minutes later. He had a pipe in his hands. “Thought I lost this when I tossed it to go in after you. Found it by the door downstairs.” He walked over to Matthew. “How’s supper?”   Matthew shrugged, putting the spoon down, hopping off the stool and moving away from the man. The fisherman replaced the lid, pulled the stool back to the kitchen counter and sat down again. He pointed once again to the stool opposite him. “Sit.” He shrugged his thumb over his shoulder. “Won’t be ready for a few more minutes.” Matthew sat down across from him again. The fisherman held the pipe out towards Matthew. “Mind if I smoke?”   Again, Matthew shook his head no. Matthew watched the man take a pouch off the counter and stuff some of the tobacco into the pipe. He picked up a pack of matches and lit the top of the pipe, puffing on the end stuck in his mouth. After a moment, he looked back at Matthew, shoving his hand out towards him. “Name’s Harry. But the fellas ‘round here call me Skipper.” Matthew hesitated before reaching out his small, young hand to shake the worn, callous old hand of the man named Harry. “You got a name, boy?” Harry asked Matthew, raising his eyebrows at him.   Matthew nodded, answering softly, “Matthew.”   Harry got up again, walking back to the stove and lifting the lid of the pan. “Good to meet you, Matthew.” Some steam rose from the food cooking in the pan. Harry used the wooden spoon to dish out the chili into the two bowls. He brought them over to the counter where he and Matthew were sitting. He turned back to the stove and turned off the burner and grabbed some paper towels and a box of crackers that were on top of the refrigerator. He put those in front of Matthew. Finally he filled two glasses with water and sat down again. He grabbed his spoon and pointing at Matthew’s bowl. “Eat up, Matthew. It’ll do you some good after that dive you took in the drink.” To be continued …